


Little Red Fuzzies

by masteremeraldholder



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Multi, OCD, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Panic Attacks, Team Bonding, read it how u want, sorta polyamorous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 18:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13129791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masteremeraldholder/pseuds/masteremeraldholder
Summary: “Wasabi?” It’s Honey. He’d expected her to follow him after the sad excuse he’d given them for his departure. But he can’t bring himself to look up. He has to clean his sweater. Or else his life would get out of control. And little red fuzzies would be his demise.





	Little Red Fuzzies

**Author's Note:**

> wow, my old writing for this ship was trash! gotta fix that!! this movie/ship/ships is still very dear to mi corazon. mostly wasabi centric, bc my boi needs more love.
> 
> shout out to [my sis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplecrystalgem/pseuds/purplecrystalgem) for betaing and helping with some parts!
> 
> hope ya'll enjoy!! <3
> 
> (author does have anxiety, but does not have ocd)

Wasabi’s compulsions hadn't always been that bad. He’d been diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder at a young age, and even then, it hadn’t been  _ that _ bad. Then it was only trivial  things. 

His shoes had to be tied a certain way or they’d come undone and he’d trip, knocking his teeth out. Or if he didn’t manage his dreads, keep them neat and tame,  they’d grow out too long  and Gran wouldn’t be able to recognize him anymore and then he’d have to live in a foster home.

See? Pretty trivial stuff.

But everything changed after Tadashi’s death.

...

It was little things at first.

He’d take a specific number of steps to satisfy the  disembodied voice that shouted commands at him.  _ Take no more than one-hundred steps to get to your next destination or face the consequences! _

Wasabi was sure that the consequence ended with him either ill or dead, and neither was ideal. So he usually ended up meticulously walking to his next class, careful to not go one step over one-hundred.

Another compulsion was the nitpicky orderliness. If he didn’t keep everything in place, the clutter will take over and destroy.

And perhaps the most cliche tendency of all: the hand-washing. Because it was the easiest way to keep himself safe from germs. As a result, his hands were forever cracked.

It’s manageable most of the time. He can control himself throughout the day. He has self-restraint and also nice prescription medications to help.

But things are different when he’s alone. Alone with his thoughts.

* * *

The upholstered chair in the lounge had stuck to his sweater, left red fuzzies all over his back. Arms. Wasabi almost screamed when he saw it.

He’s in his lab now, sweater splayed across the desk as if it were under an examination. He lint rolls it. Four very precise strokes for the four minutes he’d been sitting there, unaware.

“Wasabi?” It’s Honey. He’d expected her to follow him after the sad excuse he’d given them for his departure. But he can’t bring himself to look up. He  _ has _ to clean his sweater. Or else his life would get out of control. And little red fuzzies would be his demise.

“One,” He counts to himself aloud. “Two, three four.” Four swipes of the lint roller. And now for the other sleeve.

He finishes the sleeves and starts on the back, Honey stays quiet. He wonders if she’s too weirded out by him to even respond.

“Can I… Can I help too?”

Wasabi can’t find it in him to speak, he’s far too nervous. H e just nods and hands the roller off to her  before he can convince himself otherwise.  She swipes four broad strokes to lower back and then gives the roller back to Wasabi. 

And so they take turns using the lint roller. Exactly four times.

...

Hiro often comes over to sit with him during his lunch break. Only if he’s really busy and doesn’t have time to go to the cafeteria with everyone else.

He’s a sweet kid  and  Wasabi sees himself in him sometimes. He tries to set a good example for him,  because he knows that’s what Tadashi would want. 

Hiro plops down on the floor and fishes his lunch out of his overstuffed backpack.  “Aunt Cass made tuna casserole.” He makes a face.

Sounded nice. Wasabi finally sits when his stomach gurgles, starts in on his  vegetable medley. He  breaks each bite into tiny pieces, and chews carefully, twenty times each. And then, only then, will he swallow.

“Why do you do that?” Hiro’s never been one to hold his tongue, Wasabi hadn’t expected him to now.

But he couldn’t tell him why. That he’d choke if he didn’t chew his food thoroughly. And his sudden death would scar Hiro more than he already has been.

“No reason,” He says, but it is indeed a very big reason. “Hey, did you catch that new documentary on bioluminescence?”

Topic change. Crisis avoided.

* * *

He knits in his free time, or whenever he feels an attack coming on. His therapist thought it was a brilliant idea to cope with a hobby. Wasabi did it because it calmed him when he was anxious. And because it reminded him of Gran.

He’ll find himself knitting in his free time, or even when he’s got a difficult assignment coming up and doesn’t want to stress over it.

It’s comforting.

But he isn’t at all sure why Honey Lemon insists on observing his knitting sessions when she can. Maybe she’d taken an interest in it too?

...

He’s helping Honey bake a cake for GoGo’s birthday. It’s been hell and high water trying to get her away from the apartment long enough to actually make it a surprise, but thanks to Fred’s tickets to a UFC fight that happened to be in their area, they now had three full hours to bake.

Honey has everything set out for them, Wasabi notes,  and all that’s left is for them to bake.  Such organization.

“Ready?” She grins, tying on a frilly little apron.

He suppresses the thought arises, that she looks adorable, instead says, “Yeah, just let me wash my hands.”

He goes to the sink, turns on the water, waits a moment for it to heat up to the necessary temperature, and then dunks his hands into the scalding water. His hands have gotten used to it, though.

Wasabi reaches for some antibacterial soap, and frets, because all that Honey has is hand soap for moisturizing hands.  _ No.  _ He definitely could  _ not _ use that. He’d die.

“Oh, wait!” Honey heads into the pantry, returns with a small bottle of dishwashing liquid. Antibacterial soap. “I picked this up just for you!”

His chest clenches. He stares down at his cracked hands before taking the soap. “Thank you,” He mumbles.

...

GoGo seems pretty pleased by the gesture. Even if she has a weird way of showing it.

She studies the cake for a moment, and Wasabi’s anxiety is through the roof. But then she takes a generous bite, “Ain’t half bad. She says through a mouthful. “Wasabi. You did this?”

“Yep, he sure did!” Honey winks at Wasabi. “All by himself.”

Wasabi is quick to say otherwise. “N-no, I didn’t, I couldn’t have!” It’s really all he can think to say.

“Mhm,” GoGo scoops off some of the blue icing, then hands the cake off to Wasabi. “Try it.”

“I’d rather not,” He says because, besides the unnecessary amount of germs he’s sensing on that one slice of cake, he’s actually rather full. “I, um, ate some already.” Though the intact cake says otherwise.

GoGo quirks an eyebrow, and Fred swoops in, takes the cake for himself. Wasabi winces.

“Yo, Wasabi,” Fred passes the plate off to Hiro, and Wasabi hopes that he’ll have some sense as not to eat behind two people. Luckily, he does. “This is great stuff ! ”

GoGo snorts, “It isn’t weed, idiot.”

Hiro snickers. Thank God it wasn’t.

* * *

“It’s hard,” He whispers. “Sometimes… I wonder why I even try.”

“No, don’t,” Honey’s stops him, and he’s grateful. Something about speaking what he was feeling was terrifying yet exhausting. “Let’s take a breather.”

He doesn’t tell her that he’s been trying for the past thirty minutes to calm himself from having a panic attack, but it hasn’t been working. He’d called her on a whim because he thought it’d help.

He huffs, and it all bears down on him. Everything. His crap childhood, Gran’s death, Tadashi’s death,  _ too much death. _

He doesn’t even realize he crying.

“Shh, shh,” Honey’s voice crackles through the line. “Just listen to my voice. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yeah.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Promise me you’ll stay here with me?”

He doesn’t hesitate to respond, “Yes.”

...

“Wasabi, my dude, c’mon! We’re gonna be late for the new shipment of shounens!”

“They’ll still be there, I’m sure. It’s not like they’ll grow legs.” At least he hoped so. (Oh no, not another fear to obsess over!)

Speaking of, he had to stop agreeing to take Fred with him to the bookstore. He got particularly pushy when it came to his comics, Wasabi thought.

“We totally could have gotten Heathcliff to pick us up a couple, bruh,” Fred reclines the seat, throws his legs up on the dash.

“I don’t think so,” Wasabi says to both Fred’s feet placement and the statement. He fixes Fred with a quick glare, and his feet return to their rightful place on the floor. Christ.

Wasabi sighs, then, finally, goes about his checklist.

He buckles his seatbelt, checks that it’s secure twice, even glances over at Fred to make sure he has his on too. Next, he checks that the doors are locked. Three times. And finally, he adjusts all of his mirrors four times each.

It’s time-consuming, yes, but he has to perform this ritual everytime he gets into his car. Or else he’d have a fatal accident. Or someone would break into his car. Or he’d total his vehicle.

Wasabi can tell that Fred’s watching. He always does. But Wasabi’s grateful that he doesn’t say anything.

...

He tells Honey his number. Like he did with his therapist. One, being the absolute worse, and ten being an amazing day, like that’d ever happen.

Honey’d stroll into his lab, careful to stay behind the line and leave a whole-grain muffin or croissant, whatever she’d baked that day for breakfast.

“Mornin’, honey bun! Here’s a muffin,” She’d smile really big, and Wasabi always wished he could do the same.  _ “¿Cual es tu número?” _

“Seven,” He’d murmur, busying himself with setting aside the tools he’ll need for his tests.

“Okie dokie! Enjoy those muffins, okay?” And before he could tell her he knew that he would, she’d already be gone.

* * *

Anxiety crept in at the oddest of times. And he hated himself for it.

This time in particular, they were supposed to be celebrating  making it through midterms at the cafe . But Wasabi’s mind was literally elsewhere.

“Wasabi? Bruh, what’s up?” Fred touches his shoulder, and he recoils instantly because he knows that Fred’s hands aren’t clean. Suddenly, nothing was clean. Not the table, nor the booth they were sitting in. Germs, germs,  _ germs. _ His untimely death.

At the realization of such, Wasabi stands, barely mutters, “Excuse me.”

...

His chest is heaving as he closes himself in  a supply closet , which is about the least clean place he can think of. But his mind morphs the closet into something else, partially because he feels a panic attack coming on. Partly because he’s just that tired.

...

“Wasabi?”

Darn. He hates that she’s able to find him so quickly.

He shifts, doesn’t even bother trying to cover up the fact that he’s hiding. Because he wants to listen to her voice, it always calmed him.

“Wasabi… Can I come in?”

No. Not like this. When he was barely keeping himself together. “N-not right now,” He says.

“Okay, okay. I’ll sit right here,” He hears the clicking of her heels as she sits against the door. “Until you’re ready.”

If Wasabi listens hard enough, he can hear her heart beating.  Odd enough since he felt like his was going to beat out of his chest. 

“What’s your number?”  Honey asks. 

“Five.” It’s unusually low to say it hadn’t been triggered by anything at all. But he’s learned never to judge triggers because literally  _ anything _ could trigger him.

“Alrighty,” Her voice is soothing, “That’s good. I’ll just keep talking, okay? Is that fine?”

She’s trying to make sure he won’t do anything weird to himself, he knows, but Wasabi vowed to himself early on that if he’d ever gotten to that point, to where he wanted to hurt himself, he’d always ask for help. No matter who it was.

“Mhm,” He responds. And then she begins talking, a little in Spanish, a little in English, Wasabi isn’t really listening to what she’s saying, but the sound of her voice is so comforting that he can feel himself relaxing.

His head falls against the door. He swears he feels her’s doing the same.

...

“Wasabi?” Hiro sounds confused.

GoGo says, “How long’re you gonna make us wait out here, dude?”

“Wasabi?” It’s Fred. “I’m sorry, bruh,” 

In comes the guilt that he’d been hoping to avoid, like a tidal wave that he’d never escape. He’d left his friends without so much as an explanation.

“It’s fine,” He replies. “I just made a big deal out of it. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“Nah,” Fred says. “I shoulda asked. That’s not cool.” Wasabi has never been more proud of Fred.

Wasabi scoots back, not even worried about what bacteria, germs, or pathogens lie there on the floor with him. (Yeah, right.) He unlocks the door.

They’re all there, and Wasabi feels his throat clenching. No. He couldn’t cry. Not here. Not now. He palms his eyes.

Then he’s being embraced, he can tell from the spicy vanilla perfume it’s Honey Lemon.

_ “No llores, estoy aquí.” _

He feels himself being enclosed. Hiro’s behind him, has him in a death grip. GoGo to his right, leaning against him in what Wasabi guesses is affection. And then Fred throws his arms around everyone. They really are a team.

...

“I looked it up a while back, honestly,” Honey says and he isn’t the least bit surprised. She was prepared like that. Always one step ahead. “I was curious. And… I wanted to help.”

Wasabi’s chest hurts.

“I wanted to be there for you when you were ready to tell me. To tell us.”

“Wait,” He stops her. “You t-told— Th-they know?”

“No! It’s not my place to tell… But I think they have an idea of it.”

Wasabi smiles. He’s grateful to have his friends. To have Honey.

He wants to touch her, but he knows that will mean upsetting the voice. Still, he reaches out and places his hand over Honey’s. The voice is quiet. Honey’s eyes meet his and suddenly upsetting the voice is the least of his worries. 

He kisses her cheek, and she throws her arms around his neck. His hands clumsily find their way to her hips. It’s awkward at first. A tangle of limbs. But then he finds himself leaning into her, and it’s suddenly much much more.

Honey mumbles against his shoulder, “We’re here… Okay?”

He nods, swallows thickly. “Okay.”

“Don’t forget it.”

**Author's Note:**

> [here's](http://derpam.tumblr.com/post/168909431504/little-red-fuzzies) some art that the lovely [derpam](http://derpam.tumblr.com) drew to accompany the fic!!


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